


Coffee, Black

by Suzume



Category: StarTrek: Voyager
Genre: Coffee, Cultural exchange, F/M, Regret, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-01
Updated: 2008-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzume/pseuds/Suzume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little did Kashyk realize how much he lost when he let Voyager go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee, Black

**Author's Note:**

> Pertaining to the aftermath of the episode "Counterpoint"

"Sir, what shall we say in the reports?" some nameless underling asked the inspector tentatively.

The tall man, dressed almost completely in black, gazed calmly at the soldier. Now his name came back to him, just in time to slide slickly off his honeyed lips. "You will say nothing, Gratt." He smiled to show that he remained in complete control of the situation. He was cool and collected, firm and aware. Inspector Kashyk had been beaten, but it was a bittersweet defeat. He would miss Kathryn Janeway.

"Say it was a routine patrol mission." He waved a gloved hand across the room, silencing any further questions with the gesture. "We will speak no more of Voyager. Let the record show that they left Devore space without any problems."

His men saluted, glad to let the problem disappear with the strange, pale ship.

"I believe that is the end of that," he nodded to Prax. Prax inclined his head in return, but retained his usual taciturn demeanor, his lips tightly shut.

Kashyk had no fears regarding the Imperium's possible questions about Voyager. They trusted him- as much as they would trust anyone- and he was a clever manipulator of words and hearts. Telepaths frightened him all the more because of his personal skills. A man who lied with his smile and his eyes stood to lose much more when his innermost thoughts were discerned than an upright and honest one.

As he had expected, there was no trouble on the homeworld. He had become respected for his good work. And after some months of deliberation, Chief Inspector Kraxtin offered the hand of his daughter and Kashyk could see no reason to object to the arrangement. She was attractive, though no great beauty, but more importantly, she was a half step up the social ladder. She did not seem much like him, but it mattered little.

They were wed swiftly and efficiently to avoid troubling his or her father's schedule. "Prixa." He gazed into her gold-flecked eyes. She was smiling just the smallest bit. Perhaps she was smiling despite herself. Secretly Kashyk wondered if he could've done better. The image of Janeway came unbidden to his mind. He tried to push it aside, focusing on the young woman beside him, but his efforts were half-hearted. He wondered when he would forget her face.

"Kashyk," his bride spoke up, a note of timidity sounding in her high, childish voice, "Who is 'Kathryn'?"

At this he sat up abruptly, the pale yellow sheets sliding down his chest. His intense eyes scrutinized Prixa from the shadow of his protruding brow. "Where did you learn that name?" he asked harshly, regarding her with suspicion. Perhaps Prax or one of his other men had let something slip. Quieting his paranoia somewhat, Kashyk reminded himself that they did have several simple and successful searches of Voyager on record. That name had not necessarily snuck out concerning that confidential matter. Yes, that had to be it. A casual discussion of recent missions at the wedding party.

Prixa pushed back space-black hair and her face strained in frustration. "Well, Kashyk, you said it just a couple of minutes ago while we-"

The inspector's jaw dropped open and the rest of her words vanished into the night unheard. "Kathryn?" Had he really said, "Kathryn?" He wanted to suavely deny it and move on, but that was clearly impossible. Prixa knew what she had heard and Kashyk's reaction made it clear that this was somehow meaningful to him, accident or not.

"Who is this Kathryn?" his wife wondered, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Perhaps they had more in common than he previously thought.

"She''s nothing to me," he lied, "A mere fling."

Prixa continued to regard him coldly. Kashyk guessed she was thinking that she had made a mistake in marrying him. He disagreed, but could not fault her for considering it. He was behaving rather strangely since the incident on Voyager. He hadn't been feeling quite himself. "We only kissed," he added.

"If you say so," she relented. Her face softened only slightly and she turned on her side, leaving the hint of her bare back that appeared from the covers to face him.

He drew his face into a tight frown. He would have to watch his words more carefully. He hadn't realized that he had spoken that name. He hummed a few bars of Tchaikovsky's "Symphony Number Four." How long would it be before even the last few snatches of that song left his memory? He had not had the foresight to request a copy of the recording. His frown deepened as the agony of losing this bit of beauty hit home.

Prixa, her curiosity piqued by his quiet humming, turned her pointed face to glance at her husband over her shoulder. His actions struck her as mysterious; not exactly what she expected from such a strict military man. Her father had never mentioned that Kashyk liked music. His secrets actually seemed glamorous.

Kashyk forced himself not to look at her, continuing his humming as though he were unaware of her gaze. He enjoyed being in complete control of a situation without having to say a word. As Prixa looked away, letting her husband's action fade into the background, Kashyk leaned back against his pillow, crossing his arms behind his head. Kathryn Janeway might be in his dreams. Whether or not he was inviting her in Kashyk himself couldn't tell.

But the next morning she was front and center in his mind as another missed opportunity slapped him across the face. "Coffee!" Inspector Kashyk's voice cracked as he half-growled, half-shouted the word

"What's 'coffee'?" Prixa asked with considerably less venom than she had posed the similar question the night before.

"A wonder, invigorating drink," Kashyk groaned, "The 'finest organic suspension' ever devised, if I may paraphrase the words of a friend." He banged his gloved first on the countertop.

"You know so many strange things," the dark-haired woman remarked to herself as she noted her reflection floating peacefully in the small bowl of tea before her. A stray lock of hair had slipped across her brow and she pushed it back into place. "Must be all those ships you're checking," she continued her personal musing on the eccentricities that she had become aware of in Kashyk.

His countenance set, cold and harsh, he tapped in some commands to the console in the kitchen. His search was fruitless. It had no knowledge of coffee. Was he going to have to let that discovery evade his grasp as well? Kashyk's fists shook with frustration. Her lips, that counterpoint, the taste-! He was losing his head over such foolish, trivial things.

"Perhaps they're trivial separately, but taken all together..." he muttered angrily. How could he, Kashyk, an esteemed inspector of the Devore Imperium, be letting this get to him? He would have to let it go. He would force himself. He certainly had the willpower.

"I'm off," he declared, nodding to Prixa as he headed for the door.

"You're not going to have any tea before before you go?" she gestured toward his empty bowl sitting on the kitchen console.

"I don't quite have the taste for it this morning," he said. This time he was telling the truth. What he wanted was coffee, not some weak herbal tea.

"Have a successful day patrolling," she answered, sounding cheery but uninterested. He knew she didn't care much how his work went as long as he didn't take out any potential bad mood on her. But Kashyk didn't care how her day went either, so it barely mattered to him.

He tried to push thoughts of coffee to the back of his mind as he marched to the main inspection office and dockyard of Imperium vessels. Agitated and still rather cranky, he began to hum to soothe his nerves. Already his memory of "Symphony Number Four" was shattering, as the piece changed slightly with each repetition that trembled between his lips. But Janeway's face was still clear.

When he returned home, he was going to try the computer again. He was going to try everything he could think of to recreate that coffee. The music changed a little more, but the captain of Voyager would still have recognized it.

Kashyk wondered what it would've been like if he hadn't been lying- if he had gone forward through the wormhole with Captain Janeway and her crew. He didn't imagine it would be bad, but he had his loyalties to think of. He had made his decision. But there was one clear disadvantage to his choice. "Black coffee!" he bemoaned the loss while that red-haired woman's intelligent smile yet lingered in his mind.


End file.
